Chapter 67 - When White Turned to Color
Minhwa stepped forward. "I have an idea," she said.
Both men froze.
They turned to her instantly—hope and desperation clinging tightly to their expressions.
"What idea?" Master Du asked, already stepping closer.
Minhwa did not answer immediately.
Her gaze dropped briefly to the shredded costume on the floor—ruined beyond repair.
Then it shifted to the untouched white garment.
Simple and Plain.
Her expression remained calm. Unwavering.
"We don't need the costume," she said at last.
A brief silence followed.
"I'll perform… in this."
She lifted her hand and pointed to the white garment.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
"Are you out of your mind?!" Master Du snapped, his voice rising sharply. "Do you even understand what you're saying?"
His expression darkened, agitation clear.
"The moment you step on stage dressed like that, it won't just be your reputation at stake—Hanshen Ge's name will be dragged through the mud!"
His voice grew harsher.
"You are a child! Even grown women cannot escape such rumors—what do you think will happen to you?"
"Yes, Host, he's right—don't do it, it's too risky". Vira added quickly, her tone unusually serious.
Minhwa remained still, clearly unbothered
"Calm down, Master," she said evenly. "I never said I would dance in it… as it is."
The words made both men pause.
Master Zhao narrowed his eyes slightly. "Then what do you mean?" he asked.
Minhwa finally looked at them properly.
"I will wear it," she said. "At the end of the performance it won't be scandalous."
A frown formed on Master Du's face.
"And how do you intend to achieve that?" he pressed.
Minhwa did not hesitate.
"I'll need paint," she said. "All colors."
Silence.
"Paint?" Master Du repeated, clearly confused. "Where are we supposed to get paint from?"
Before Minhwa could respond—
"Host, I've got something", Vira said.
A stream of information flashed through Minhwa's mind—quick, unfamiliar, yet strangely clear.
Minhwa blinked slightly.
"What… is this?" she asked inwardly.
"Oh—this?" Vira replied lightly. " "It's something I got from YouTube—it's from my world, you wouldn't understand."
Minhwa didn't question further.
Instead, she spoke.
"We can make it."
Both men looked at her.
"Red can be extracted from gisaeng rouge—mixed with crushed tomato or strawberry for depth," she continued calmly.
"Green—from fresh weeds or leaves."
She paused briefly, thinking.
"Other colors… we improvise."
The room fell silent again.
This time—not from disbelief but consideration.
Then Master Zhao exchanged a glance with Master Du.
Slowly— Understanding began to form.
And not long after,They moved.
Servants were called. Materials were gathered.
Some of the older gisaeng, curious and intrigued, stepped forward to help.
What had started as desperation was slowly turning into something else.
Something unexpected.
_____________________________________________________________________________________.
The stage lights dimmed.
The final group of young trainees ( Minhwa's group) had just begun their coordinated performance—sleeves flowing, steps synchronized, expressions carefully trained.
Soft music filled the hall.
Elegant and predictable, beautiful—but expected.
The audience watched politely. Some nodded. Some sipped wine. Some whispered behind their sleeves.
Then— The music shifted.
A single note lingered longer than it should have.
The dancers paused mid-motion. A deliberate pause.
The interlude had begun. At first—nothing happened.
A breath of silence stretched across the hall.
Then from the side of the stage, A small figure stepped forward.
She was dressed in pure white.No elaborate embroidery. No dazzling ornaments. No bright colors.
Everyone recognized it immediately—it was an inner garment.
The women there all gasped and whispered to themselves, "How could they send a young girl out dressed like that?"
"What do you expect from a gisaeng house…"
The moment Minhwa fully emerged—Something changed.
A few guests straightened unconsciously.
No wonder… she's beautiful.
Meanwhile the Crown Prince's gaze snapped toward the stage.
His eyes darkened the moment he saw her clothes.
Who dared make his woman dress like this? he thought.
But there was nothing he could do—he was seated beside the Queen.
.
.
.
.
.
Minhwa stepped into the center—one step, two steps. Her movements were light, but not hesitant.
Measured. Controlled.
She stopped, lowered her gaze, and bowed.
Silence deepened.
Then— the music began again.
Soft. Almost fragile.
Her hands rose slightly, her sleeves falling gently at her sides.
Slowly.
Then she took a step, crossing her hands as she lowered into a half-sitting pose, one leg placed ahead of the other.
She stepped forward again—and the dancers around her formed three petals at her sides, making the sight even more beautiful.
She moved, flowing and swaying as if she were water, each motion carrying a quiet, aching loneliness.
No one could look away.
Her fingers curved slightly, as though tracing something unseen in the air.
Then—
The music paused.
She made her first turn.
Then the second.
She turned again—then bent down, as if broken.
Suddenly, a red, paint-like substance poured from above.
Everything shifted.
The liquid soaked into her garment, dyeing it red. The crowd gasped—especially the women, who knew water would make the fabric heavy.
Then she swirled.
The music resumed, slow at first.
Her body moved like flowing water. She spun once, then again—and as she did, another paint-like substance poured down.
Yellow.
Then another—blue.
Another—green.
Another—purple.
Each color soaked into the garment, blending into a vivid, breathtaking display.
The zither began to play faster and faster.
Yet every one of Minhwa's spins matched the rhythm perfectly—none out of place.
The guests didn't even realize when they began counting.
But when they reached forty-two—
Minhwa stopped.
Then she bowed.
The dancers surrounded her, each lowering themselves as well, forming a flower yet to bloom.
Then, together, they lifted their heads and leaned back slightly—only Minhwa remained upright, her hands raised, completing the image.
A flower in full bloom.
The guests rose to their feet, applause erupting through the hall.
How could they not understand?
This dance— was more than a dance. It was the story of Great Liang— its struggle, its sacrifice… its rise
Once, there had been nothing but poverty. Emptiness.
Then the early efforts of the kingdom's founding king.
Then the despair when no results seemed to come.
Then— The red.
The first breakthrough, though it came with sacrifice.
Then the colors— Each one representing the people, rising together, building, contributing, transforming the land.
Until finally—The bloom.
A symbol of what Great Liang had become.
And so—The hall erupted.
Applause broke out like a wave crashing against stone.
Loud and unrestrained.
Guests rose to their feet—some without realizing it.
Even those who had remained indifferent earlier now clapped, their composure gone.
The sound filled every corner of Hanshen
The performance finally came to an end.
.
.
.
.
.
while the guest thought the performance was beautiful, there was one who thought differently.
The crown prince
The performance was indeed beautiful—but something else held his attention even more.
Minwha
The crown prince sat there, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the stage—on Minwha.
Then, under his breath, he whispered,
"It seems… I have no choice but to keep you by my side."
A faint, dangerous smirk formed on his lips.
The Queen turned slightly toward him. "What did you say?"
The Crown Prince blinked, then quickly composed himself.
"Nothing," he replied calmly.
He forced the smirk to settle, though his thoughts refused to follow.
The Queen paused for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze lingering on him. Clearly suspicious
But she did not think much of it and turned her attention back to the hall.
After a while, the guests began to leave.
Most of them—especially the noblewomen—departed first, their conversations light as they exited.
Those who remained were mostly men.
Men who had no intention of leaving so soon.
Private performances would begin soon.
The Queen rose from her seat, and the Crown Prince followed.
Just as they were about to leave, the head guard approached quietly and leaned in, whispering something into her ear.
The Queen's expression did not change, but her eyes sharpened slightly.
"Understood," she said.
The guard bowed and withdrew immediately.
She then turned to the Crown Prince.
"Go ahead and wait for me in the carriage," she instructed. "I have an old acquaintance to visit."
A brief pause.
The Crown Prince's gaze flickered slightly at that, but he said nothing.
Though reluctant, he nodded.
"As you wish, Mother."
And with that, he turned and left
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile inside Hanshen Ge training hall
The hall exploded with noise.
"AHHHHH—!!!"
The scream was deafening.
Before Minhwa could even take a seat, a wave of bodies crashed into her.
"Minhwa!!"
"We did it!!"
"That was insane!!"
She was engulfed instantly—arms wrapping around her from every direction, pulling her into a tight, chaotic embrace.
Laughter broke out. Loud. Unrestrained.
Some girls were jumping, others clinging onto her sleeves, her shoulders—anything they could grab.
"It was perfect!"
"What… was that supposed to be?! That didn't even look human!"
"It was so beautiful!"
Dunluo was at the center of it all, grabbing Minhwa by both arms, her face flushed with excitement.
"I told you! I told we could do it!" she said breathlessly. "You did so well, I swear—what was that?!"
Minhwa blinked, slightly overwhelmed for a brief moment.
Then—
A small smile curved at her lips.
"It was nothing special," she said softly.
"Nothing special?!" Dunluo almost shrieked. "Do you want the rest of us to die from shame?!"
That only made the others laugh louder as their energy refused to settle.
Even those who had been eliminated earlier were celebrating just as hard—because what Minhwa had done on that stage…
It wasn't just a win—it left every other gisaeng far behind.
Not far from the group— Master Du dufu stood with his hands behind his back, watching quietly.
His usual stern expression had softened, just slightly.
"Her foundation is flawless," he said under his breath. "She's not meant to be just a giseang, she's more than that... She's a born performer, don't you agree?" Asked master Du as he turned to teacher zhao beside him
Master Zhao Liang let out a low chuckle.
"Yes you're right," he replied.
For once, there was no criticism, no war.
Only approval and happiness spreads through the hall.
And then— Madam stepped in.
The moment she entered, the noise gradually quieted.
Not completely—
But enough.
Her gaze, slightly softened, swept over the group before stopping on miwha
Calmly.
But there was no mistaking it this time, she was pleased.
"Master Du." She called softly
"Yes, Madam." He replied
A brief pause.
Then—
"Distribute rewards."
Simple words but they hit like thunder.
There was a second of silence—
Then—
"WAIT—REWARDS?!"
"MONEY?!"
"WE'RE GETTING PAID?!"
The room exploded again.
"AHHHHHH!!"
"No way!!"
"Is this real?!"
Some girls nearly screamed themselves hoarse, grabbing each other, laughing wildly.
Dunluo turned back to Minhwa, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Do you hear that?! We're getting paid!"
She grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly, unable to contain herself.
Minhwa let out a quiet breath, the faint smile still lingering on her face.
Around her, Joy spread like fire.
For once, there was no competition.
No hierarchy.
Just celebration.
And yet while all this was going on, Not everyone was there.
Minhwa's gaze drifted, almost unconsciously.
Scanning.
Then stopping.
…Linyue.
Where is she?